
Of course the cutting is a bit psychological. Sort of like Angelina Jolie's old habit. But while with her it was skin, with me it's hair. Still, if I eliminate the perceived imperfections maybe I'll eliminate the cutting compulsion. Down the street from my apartment is a Floyd's Barbershop. Convenient, huh? I strode in around 9:30 am and was handed over to the care of a guy named "Spindle." Or maybe it was "Spyndell." You never can tell...He had purple hair and that should have scared me from entrusting my scalp to his shears (I have major trust issues with hairstylists due to a series of hair disasters...) but I figured no-one could do worse to my hair than the crimes I have committed against my tresses.
Fifteen minutes later, Spindle snipped and shaped and got everything "even." I paid $21 and tipped another $9. A bit excessive, but $30 is still cheap for a haircut in L.A. Turns out, my own haircutting skills weren't quite the horror story I imagined. Now I just have to continue to convince myself it's all even now and allow it to slowly grow out.
Or hide all my scissors so I won't be tempted...
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